


It Doesn't Count on Tuesday

by Callie, cerie



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: 2012 United States Election, Episode Tag, F/M, S2e08 Election Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie/pseuds/Callie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do I think you need to fall on your sword for the entire network? I absolutely, one hundred percent do not. Do you think you get to leave Charlie and me there to keep this shit going while you get to duck away from it? I'm the one who has to go on television every night and pretend I have some goddamn credibility, and now I have to do it without you. And I can't believe you're being so fucking selfish that you're making me do it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Doesn't Count on Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> One way we imagined 2.08 could be resolved. It will absolutely be Sorkined with the next episode, but in the meantime, enjoy! Loosely inspired by the preview for 2.09.

It's five-plus hours into their election coverage, but Will's heard almost nothing from MacKenzie for the last hour. Ever since he fired her--he's well aware that's how long it's been. Painfully aware. She barely said a word to him even when he and Taylor did nothing but bitch at each other for an entire segment and now there's nothing from her.

"Mac, what's the word from the decision desk? Are we calling it for Obama?" There's no answer, so he tries again. "Mac?"

"She's not in the control room." It's Herb in his ear, this time. "She left at the last break and she's not back. Ten seconds."

Fuck. "You guys know where MacKenzie is?" Elliot and Sloan just shrug and Taylor's being too busy pouting because it's crystal fucking clear Romney can kiss this election goodbye (and Will's not all that sad about it, if he's perfectly fucking honest).

"Don't know where she is, Will." Don's voice in his ear is harried and uncertain. "No word from the decision desk yet. Keep vamping."

Will's not entirely sure what he says when the red light goes on--or much of anything that he makes up on the spot while they're waiting to call the Presidential race--but when they finally call it for Obama, the light is hardly off before Will's up from the desk and out of the studio. She's not in her office, she's not in _his_ office, she's not at the decision desk--no one has seen her. He yanks off his mic pack, drops it on his desk, and leaves.

It's an impulse decision. He's not thinking about the show, he's not thinking about Charlie or Leona or anyone else--the only thing that matters at this moment is MacKenzie. Yes, he fired her, but he never expected her to bail _in the middle of the show_ and it feels so wrong that he knows he made the worst possible mistake (even if he's pissed as fuck at her for goading him into it). The only thing he's thinking about is finding her.

She doesn't answer her phone and when he knocks on her door, he's afraid she won't answer there, either. But she does, eventually. 

"Why the fuck are you not at your desk?"

"Why the fuck are you not in the control room?" It's the only thing he can say in response to the _nerve_ of her leaving during the fucking broadcast. He doesn't have any other response to this bullshit drama.

"I've been fired. I was well within my rights to leave and I imagine that Don can coax you through what you need to do. You've done election nights before." MacKenzie sighs and leans against the doorframe; she clearly wasn't expecting him or anyone else, as she's dressed in a tank top and shorts clearly meant for sleeping in. "I was trying not to make a scene. I thought you might appreciate the restraint."

"I didn't want to fucking fire you at all," he says. He's tried of her martyrdom and he's tired of her acting like she's the only one affected by all this bullshit. He's just fucking _tired_. "You fucking goaded me into firing you and then you don't even have the goddamn decency to stick around and finish the fucking broadcast? I don't call that restraint, I call that fucking selfish."

"Please stop," MacKenzie says, her voice trembling in the way that means tears are close behind. "If you're going to scream at me, I would prefer if you just sent me a scathing email and didn't berate me in my own home. I'm allowed that dignity."

Usually, MacKenzie's tears are his fucking kryptonite, but not tonight. Will feels like she's blaming him for something she goaded him into doing and he isn't going to fucking take that from her. Not this time. "Maybe you should have thought about that before you pushed me into doing something I didn't want to do," he says, and though he's not shouting at her anymore, his voice is no less intense for the lowered volume. "Did you really think I didn't want to fire you because it would make me look bad, or did you just say that, or insinuate it, or whatever the fuck you did, just to piss me off enough to fire you?"

"I don't fucking work for you anymore, Will, and you don't have the right to ask me anything. I don't work for you. I'm not your fucking girlfriend. And you know what? I don't know what the fuck you're going to do at any given minute because I saw you go on fucking ACN Morning because the woman you were fucking told you that it'd make your goddamned audience love you. I wanted you to fire me. As we both know, I know how to put a knife in your back and twist it so you'll do whatever I want you to do. It's _done_." MacKenzie opens the door wide and motions him inside. "Don't do this in the hallway. You have a job still and I'd like to keep it that way."  
"I have every right to ask you." He doesn't step inside her apartment, but he does reach out and rest his hands against the doorframe, leaning in a little. "If you ever gave a shit about me, I want you to tell me if you really thought I was that big of a dick that I was only not firing you because I cared how it _looked_."

MacKenzie sobs, a choked, miserable little sound and covers her mouth with her hand. "Will, I loved...I love you. I never fucking stopped loving you. I just don't want to carry this fucking burden on my shoulders anymore and I wanted to be out because I'm a failure as a professional and I failed...I can't fucking look at you and know that I destroyed you professionally after what I did to you personally."

Will grips the doorframe hard enough that his knuckles ache, because he doesn't know whether he wants to hug her or shake her and neither of those are intelligent options at the moment. "You need to stop saying that," he says. "You are not a fucking failure. The only person--and I mean the _only_ person responsible for fucking up is Jerry Dantana. Would I prefer that Leona fire Charlie and me and try to get some credibility back to this station? Yes. Do I think you need to fall on your sword for the entire network? I absolutely, one hundred percent do not. Do you think you get to leave Charlie and me there to keep this shit going while you get to duck away from it? I'm the one who has to go on television every night and pretend I have some goddamn credibility, and now I have to do it without you. And I can't believe you're being so fucking selfish that you're making me do it."

"I don't want to look at you anymore and I know I fucking destroyed you!" MacKenzie says angrily. "You were _perfect_ , you were so good to me, you loved me and cherished me and put me on a goddamn pedestal that I never asked for and couldn't...I was never going to be..." She sobs and tries to catch her breath. "I realized tonight that forgiving me for what I did...it's not something I can control. And I can't handle it."

Will steps inside her apartment and carefully closes the door behind him. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at her for a long moment before speaking. "You can't handle it, and now I have to do this show without you, and I can't do it. That's why I left Sloan and Elliot at the desk after calling the election. Because I can't do it without you." It's really that simple.

"You did it without me for...for three years," MacKenzie manages to choke out. "Why do you want me, Will? Honestly?"

"I didn't do _this_ show without you for three years." He doesn't answer her question; she hasn't really answered his, even now, so he's not inclined to answer any of hers. "This is the only show that's worth doing, not the shit I was doing before."

"I didn't think you were a dick," MacKenzie says softly, "Until you goaded me into saying I cheated on you after the business with the opposition research. Until you showed me the ring. You could have just told me you didn't want to be embarrassed when the deal fell through but you didn't, you made the point of having me say I ruined...that you wanted me as your wife until I ruined it. There was no need to show me that ring, Will. That was cruel. As far as our relationship went, you were a good guy. You're absolutely correct."

"I'm sorry about the thing with the ring." He's never going to admit to buying that ring specifically for the purpose of shaming her--he thinks it's irrelevant, considering he was absolutely planning to ask her to marry him during those four months she was fucking Brian behind his back and the only thing that stopped him from buying a ring then was her confession. The intent was there. He is, however, sorry for it.

"I didn't think you were a dick until that, then you brought Brian in to torture me," MacKenzie continues, soft and quiet as if she fears he will explode on her. "Brian, who belittles me and makes me feel like a fucking whore and you brought him in and made me have to be civil to him. I didn't think you were a dick until you decided that fucking a gossip columnist who'd tried to destroy us was a better prospect than working on our issues and our friendship. I never, ever thought you were anything but a perfect man when I dated you, Will, but now? Maybe I made you into this. But it's not entirely unexpected, at this point, that you'd be unwilling to fire me because you're afraid of your image because the audience, see, the audience never fucked their ex boyfriend for four months while lying to you about it. They just play hard to get."

"Then I suppose I did you a favor by firing you," he says softly. It galls him that after all this time, she still doesn't fucking _get it_ , and she's never going to get it. "If that's what you think of me--I guess I did you a favor."

MacKenzie throws up her hands in a frustrated gesture. "What have you done for me, Will, that's supposed to make me think any different? You've constantly reminded me no matter what I do that I fucking ruined your life. Any time I feel like I'm close to you again, that I can fix this and be a part of your life that isn't your producer, you shove me away. I know I hurt you. I know that. I don't dispute it. But you've been hurting _me_ too. You've been..." Her breath catches and her words stick in her throat."Maybe I'm a martyr but you were more than happy to hand me the nails for my cross."

"Oh for fuck's--" Will throws up his hands and turns away, laughing bitterly. He doesn't even know how to respond to that. 

After a moment, MacKenzie steps close and puts her hand on his shoulder. "Will, seriously, you're the best man I know. You were perfect when we were together and I don't say that just to say it. You were...you were everything I wanted and I couldn't handle it and all I want is to have you back but I can't. I can't _fix it_. I've done everything I know how to do and it's not enough. I just refuse to accept that I can't fix it somehow."

"And you think walking away from our show is going to help with that?" Will certainly fucking doesn't. It's the only context in which he can actually relate to her anymore and without that, he's not sure what he's going to do.

"Do you think me staying is going to help?" she asks, voice pitched soft and a little small. "Because I didn't think it would. I thought it...I thought it'd just make you hate me more than you already probably do because you have to look at me and be reminded of what I did to you. Personally."

"I don't hate you." He doesn't turn around, because he can't look at her yet. "I don't hate you, and I don't blame you for Genoa, and I want you to stop falling on your sword for everybody. For this."

"Okay," MacKenzie says, then carefully, she slides her arms around him and presses her cheek against his back. Will isn't prepared for her to do that. What he was prepared for was a few rounds of verbal punching bag--and they've had that, though he feels like there's more to say that he can't articulate yet--but he isn't prepared for the kind of small, physical gesture that she's giving him right now (which is his own fault; MacKenzie's always been good at that). "If you're willing to have me, I'm willing to be un-fired for the time being," she says. "You can re-hire me if you so desire on some...trial basis or something."

"I don't think I could have made that firing stick, anyway," he says, trying with everything in him to sound casual. "I can only fire you at the end of the week, and it's Tuesday, so..."

"Last I checked, Tuesday and Friday weren't the same," MacKenzie says quietly. "I'm sorry for...well, for everything. You must know that it was never my intention to hurt anyone but myself with this. I didn't want anyone else to suffer."

Will nods and shrugs slightly, but he finds he can't respond. He knew how to deal with her when they were shouting, and now that they're not, he doesn't know what to do. "Yeah," he says quietly. He's mentally replaying some of the things she's said to him tonight and he doesn't know if he'll be able to let them go. The thing with Brian, the thing with the ring--yeah, okay, those were about trying to hurt her as much as she hurt him. The thing with Nina--that wasn't about MacKenzie at all. Maybe it doesn't matter.

MacKenzie squeezes him one last time before lowering her hands and stepping away. "Look, it's late. Do you want a drink or something? I've got...there's tea, there's coffee, there's a bottle of Jameson's...anything you want. You're welcome to it."

Will rubs his hands against his face and turns around. "Nah," he says, with a little shrug. He's still trying to be casual, but he doesn't feel like it's very effective. "Tomorrow is--you know, the thing with Dantana, and you should get some sleep. It was a long day."

"It is. I didn't want it to go to suit, you know. I don't...my name being dragged through the mud is bad enough but I didn't want it for you and Charlie. It must be so much harder to be the face of things," she says, sighing a bit. "I doubt I'm going to sleep, though."  
"Yeah, no. Me either." He knows he should leave, but he isn't making a move to do so and he doesn't know why. "It's going to work out. Lawyers like Halliday don't fuck around with this shit if there's no chance."

"You should stay," MacKenzie says, biting her lower lip a little. "Not...look, neither of us is going to sleep and nothing's going to happen but maybe we'll be able to keep each other company in our abject misery? Or, hey, you're in charge of morale. Maybe you need to stay just to make sure I don't change my mind about being un-fired."

He shrugs again, just a slight shift of his shoulders beneath his jacket. "You can't change your mind about being un-fired," he says. "It's Tuesday. Doesn't count." 

MacKenzie nods. "What else doesn't count on a Tuesday, Will? Is there anything else that might not count on the first day after the first Monday in November?"

"The stock market crash of 1929 was on a Tuesday," he says. "And I bet they wished that didn't count. But that was in October." Her invitation to stay has unsettled him, and he's fishing for things to say that could give him an excuse to leave.

"I don't want to be alone, Will. I don't care what kind of fucked up superstition we have to drag out to make it all right but I want you to stay. It doesn't have to count for anything other than just tonight but please, please stay?"

"What do you want from me?" Will asks softly. He's about ninety-eight percent sure that if he hangs around here much longer he's going to pick another fight with her and they're going to be back at square one again; this little truce seems tentative enough that if they turn around and fight again they won't be able to call a cease fire so easily.

"Just you," she says. "You're all I want. No pressure and no expectations and nothing but you. It's all I want right now and you don't have to give in, you've given me a hell of a lot more than I deserve but...it would mean something to me if you stayed."

"I don't think... " He speaks carefully, mindful of her anxious face and the fact that he doesn't want to break their (probably temporary) truce. "It's probably not a good idea. I think it's one of those things that seems like a good idea at first and then later you realize..." This isn't helping. He sighs, tries again. "I should go. You should get some sleep and I should... I should go."

MacKenzie's chin quivers a little and she looks hurt--Will expected it, but he still hates it. "I understand. I'll be in tomorrow morning as usual and we'll deal with whatever Dantana decides he wants to throw at us." She pauses for a moment before adding, "Will, you were a good boyfriend. If you never listen to me again about anything, listen to me about this. You were good to me. I had no complaints."

"Neither did I." He didn't, up until the thing with Brian. He was in love with her from the beginning, and those two years were the happiest of his entire life.

And he still loves her, he realizes, as he opens the door to leave. If he didn't, this whole fucking mess wouldn't hurt so much. He could just walk away from her, from the show, from all of it, if he didn't still love her. If he didn't care, it would all be so much fucking easier. There wouldn't be this fucking hole in his heart where she used to be and he wouldn't be desperately trying to fill it with things that don't even come _close_ to taking her place and he sure as fuck wouldn't be so goddamn miserable. He pauses in the space of the opened door, fingers still curled around the doorknob. "Goddamn it, Mac," he says, though it's less like saying the words than pushing them out through a voice that's cracked and crumbling. 

"Don't go, Will," she murmurs. "Please don't go. I don't want you to go and I never stopped wanting you. I don't know what...I was an idiot but it never had anything to do with you because you were so, so good to me."

Will feels so many things at once that the combined weight of them all is hot and smothering and he presses his forehead against the edge of the door because he can't turn around. He can't make himself walk out the door, but he can't face her, either, and he hates being caught in this limbo. "You broke my heart," he whispers. Just saying the words hurts more than he expected and _fuck_ , he wants to take it back.

"I know," she says, crossing the room and tentatively pressing her palm against his back, right between his shoulderblades. Will flinches at her touch, but he doesn't pull away. "Billy, I know. I have to live with it every day. I know it's not the same as what you feel but...but I live with it every day."

After a deep, unsteady breath, Will lets go of the door and tips it closed.

"We're in a strange place tonight," MacKenzie says. "Nothing really counts here. Right now, I'm technically in limbo between being your employee and being a free agent. Nothing really counts."

Her voice is soft and her hand is light on his back and he desperately, achingly misses her. That's all it takes to tip him over the breaking point, all it takes to make him turn and reach blindly for her to kiss her. On some level he realizes that maybe she's goading him into this just like she goaded him into firing her, but on another level, he just doesn't fucking care. Maybe he surprises her with it, because her response is delayed by half a second, a little whimper that sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin, and then she hooks her arms around his neck, pressing her body close against him.

He fucking misses this. He's been with a dozen or so women in the last six years but none of them, no matter how much he liked them, were anywhere close to what he feels for MacKenzie, and when he kisses her he's painfully reminded of that fact. He slides his hands down her back, a whisper of soft fabric and warm skin against his palms as he holds her close. MacKenzie slides her hands down and pushes at his jacket, trying to work it off his shoulders; Will presses her against the wall and shoves his jacket away, not giving a shit where it lands. He doesn't have the excuse of being drunk or high or impaired in any other way, but this, too, is something he doesn't give a shit about, not with her mouth warm and hungry on his and her hands pushing at his clothes. She yanks off his tie and he pulls at his shirt buttons--he doesn't think he's ever gotten out of a shirt this fast--and he can't stop kissing her. If he stops kissing her, he'll start thinking about how this is a bad idea and he doesn't want to think about that. He just wants (needs) to be with her in whatever way she'll have him.

MacKenzie slides one arm around him and digs her nails into his back while the other undoes his belt. She breaks the kiss, sucks in a quick breath, and kisses him again all a matter of seconds. She isn't fucking around anymore than he is right now. Not with this.

Belt undone, she tugs down his zipper and slides her hand into his pants. "Damn it, Mac," he groans, when her hand brushes his dick, and he grinds against her shamelessly. She's shorter in bare feet and the angle isn't quite right; he pushes her along the wall until they bump into a little entryway table, and shifts her up onto it and fuck, yes, that's so much better. She's wearing thin little sleep shorts that might as well not even be there when he slides his hands up her thighs. Everything he feels inside threatens to pull him under and he's fighting it the only way he knows how.

"You want me or do you wanna fuck around some more?" she challenges him, pulling back just enough that she can look into his eyes. 

"I'm not fucking around," he growls, leaning up to kiss her hard. He slides his fingers into her shorts and tugs, pulling them out from under her and shoving them down her legs. He's too impatient to move this to her bedroom, nerves too raw to figure out whether this means anything, whether this changes anything for them. _Nothing really counts_ , she said, and maybe it doesn't, but he needs it anyway.

MacKenzie whips her tank top off and tosses it down to the floor with her shorts before reaching for him again. "Need me, then? Need this?"

Instead of answering her, he catches her mouth in another hard kiss, pulling her to the edge of the table so he can press against her. He's oblivious to everything but this exact moment, with her, right now, because for the first time in a long time, that hole in his heart doesn't hurt quite so much.

"C'mon, Billy," MacKenzie coaxes, grinding against him her body soft and warm against him in all the right places.. "Please?"

Will doesn't need any more encouragement than that. He just needs _her_ , and when he's finally inside her it's so good he forgets for a moment about the weight of everything he's feeling and just feels _her_. He sighs against her neck and rocks into her, gripping her hips and he wants to take it slow but he can't. Not this time, not after six years. MacKenzie sighs, her breath catching, and she curls her hand around the back of his neck, dragging him close for another kiss. 

_Oh, Jesus._ He hasn't forgotten how good they are together, but somehow it's better than he remembers, and God, he doesn't want it to end. The smell and taste of her, the little sound she makes when she sighs, the warmth of her body against his--he doesn't want _any_ of that to end. He keeps a hand curled in her hair; the other hand slides between them, stroking lightly at her clit, feeling the slick slide of their bodies together, and a desperate heat pools low in his belly as he gets closer and closer to coming. MacKenzie hooks her leg over his hip and thrusts her own hips up against him with a soft whimper, that almost fragile little sound that she only makes when she's close (it's a sound he'd never forget, not even after six years).

"Oh...oh _fuck_ ," she cries out softly. "That's it. That's it."

Will can't hold on any longer than that and when he finally comes it's almost too good, pleasure that's just this side of being intense enough to be pain. He whispers something obscene against her neck and his hand tightens in her hair and he holds her close because if he doesn't he's just going to fall over. "Jesus, Mac."

"I only go by that name on Tuesdays. On Wednesdays, I prefer to be Buddhist," MacKenzie jokes weakly, her hand lightly stroking his back. "I lo...I'm glad you didn't leave, Will. So glad."

Will wishes she wouldn't talk, because one little thing will lead to another and they'll be arguing again and he just wants to hold on to this moment for a little bit longer before that happens. "Shh," he breathes against her neck. "Just..." 

"Take me to bed, at least? For a little while?" Her voice is soft, undemanding, and unexpectedly tender. He wants to say no. He wants to say no and leave and let this be what it is before they turn it into shitting on each other, but it occurs to him that maybe MacKenzie will get a few hours' sleep if he sticks around, so he gives in. 

"Sure," he says, and helps ease her down off the table. He holds her close for a moment, then gathers up their clothes off the floor.

MacKenzie presses up close for a moment and whispers against his ear. "It doesn't just have to be Tuesday, Will. It can be anything you want it to be."


End file.
